Today was the Fringe lottery draw.
I was in China, thousands of miles away from Toronto, watching a livestream of a party happening in the city where the stage is –the city where this dream has always lived. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I had traveled across continents to find myself, and now I was waiting to see if a small piece of home would finally let me step forward.
I entered the Toronto Fringe because I stopped telling myself “I should write something” and finally asked, what if I do? For most of my life, I trusted the universe to put me where I needed to be without me asking. This time was different. This time, I asked for help. I asked for a chance to stand on a stage and tell the story I’ve been walking through —Journey Back to ChihSang, or maybe more honestly, how I came back to me.
When they announced the number of entries –1,015– my heart sank. There were only twelve slots in my category. The odds were brutal. I laughed to myself, half in disbelief, half in self-protection. But I stayed and watched. I didn’t look away. This journey has taught me not to run from outcomes anymore.
When my category came up, the names were brought forward in a bin. I told myself not to expect anything. And then, before I could even finish that thought, my name was drawn and called out –first.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen, convinced it would change. That someone would say there was a mistake –or someone else has a similar name as me. But it wasn’t. I was in.
The shock hit first, followed by a quiet stillness, and then a wave of emotion I didn’t know what to do with. I didn’t have to wait anymore. I didn’t have to sit in uncertainty. The universe didn’t whisper this time –it answered clearly.
I told my friends. Friends from different countries, different chapters of my life, different versions of me. The excitement came quickly, and the nerves followed just as fast. Because now there s no hiding behind someday. My thoughts to an excerpt from Someday is Today by Matthew Dicks:
“Your job as a creator – a maker of things – is to make your thing, but then put that thing on a proverbial shelf in your brain. Not on some shelf in a dusty pantry at the back of your brain but on display in a place of prominence and importance. Keep it in a place in your mind (or, if it’s small and tangible, on an actual shelf in your home) where you will come across it often. Rather than forgetting about it and moving on to the next thing, imagine it as a glowing bauble, looking to become something new and different and maybe even better.”
My first play is going live.
This journey began with burnout and numbness. With long roads and borrowed homes and learning how to sit with myself again. Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to escape who I was and started listening instead.
Hearing my name called out at lottery party back home while standing on the other side of the world, I realized something simple and terrifying: the door has opened.
Now I have to walk through it.
